


the cost of your joy is my sorrow

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, legal magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: The sorcerer had a king he served.  A great and mighty ruler. One who was blessed by the summer and kissed by the winter. The king was a fair and just man, if not a bit stubborn sometimes. But he listened to the council of his sorcerer and together their kingdom flourished. Stocks were ever full and enemies never dared. They loved and they laughed, and the whole kingdom was sheathed in warmth and joy.But of course the good could not last. There was a witch, an evil and bitter witch. (Isn’t there always in stories with king’s?) The witch wasn’t cruel; just jealous. Because the witch had a heart and a love that had been brushed aside. She’d been left, forgotten and alone, in a cave made of crystals that showed her possibilities. They showed her lovely moving pictures of all the futures she could ever dream of, and even the ones she never wanted to imagine.





	the cost of your joy is my sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Merthur Daily](https://merthurdaily.tumblr.com/)'s 1o Years. 
> 
> Day 1: Joy and Sorrow.

Once, in a world not unlike the current one, there was a sorcerer whose powers were the stuff of legends. He spoke to dragons and to sidhe and to fairy and to goblin. He gave birth to butterflies and made the strawberries grow. He called the rain down and he ordered the trees to move, and when he was feeling his most powerful, he could even command life. Though, that was a power far to grand to be handled lightly, and one he did not enjoy wielding.

The sorcerer had a king he served.  A great and mighty ruler. One who was blessed by the summer and kissed by the winter. The king was a fair and just man, if not a bit stubborn sometimes. But he listened to the council of his sorcerer and together their kingdom flourished. Stocks were ever full and enemies never dared. They loved and they laughed, and the whole kingdom was sheathed in warmth and joy.

But of course the good could not last. There was a witch, an evil and bitter witch. (Isn’t there always in stories with king’s?) The witch wasn’t cruel; just jealous. Because the witch had a heart and a love that had been brushed aside. She’d been left, forgotten and alone, in a cave made of crystals that showed her _possibilities._ They showed her lovely moving pictures of all the futures she could ever dream of, and even the ones she never wanted to imagine.

How was she to know she could choose which one was true?

The witch did not know, for there were no teachers in this strange, euphoric land. So the witch rode into the kingdom on her decaying stead. The king welcomed her into his home, seated her on his throne. He remembered when the witch had been destined to be Queen by his side.

The sorcerer did not trust the witch. For how could a sister so strongly betray her brother, for the sake of a crown they were meant to share? How jealous did one have to be, to want all of that power for their own?

He could never understand the witch’s true desire: to be lauded and respected as well as her brother. To be _more_ than just the one at his elbow.

But that is another story, for a different time. The sorcerer did not understand the witch, but he knew she had a plan.

It was a cruel and vicious thing. One with spells and flowers and lovers and whispers. The sorcerer, for all of his might couldn’t undo a spell crafted in blood and bound with a kiss. And so he watched as his king slipped away from him. His skin grew grey and his eyes grew milky and his breath grew short.

The sorcerer begged and pleaded. He prayed to old gods and new. He appealed to the deities of the sky and those of the sea and no one answered him. He even wept before the feet of the stone and bronze and marble Queens, but they all remained quiet.

So he turned once more to the witch and he offered her all he had left.

 _I cannot undo the crimes done to you,_ he told her.

 _And I cannot undo my curse,_ she replies mournfully.

But the sorcerer knew this already. Because unlike the witch he understood the limitations of magic and intention.

The sorcerer tells her of those possibilities. How each little crystal was a whole entire world, a whole entire future. He tells her the cost, and he tells her how to pay it. And then he says, _I’ll pay it for you, if you send us away. I’ll pay it in full; it’ll be more than enough._

For the first time, the witch’s eyes grow soft. _It’ll cost you everything, you know._

_I know._

Together the witch and the sorcerer drag the dying king’s body to a lake. They shout words in a tongue they barely speak and the witch cuts the sorcerer’s hands. He bleeds into the lake. Their chants echoe long into the night.

Some say the sun never set that day, over the lake. Manuscript swear the sky stayed a the bright gold of midday for 24 hours. Most agree that three people went into the lake, and no one came out.

In another world, a witch woke up in a glass chair, with a kingdom all her own. A company she ruled with iron will and gentle might.

In a different one, the king awoke, in a simple little cottage. But he woke up alone and he woke up afraid. He puttered about and he tried not to pout and he built himself a small little life. He was always searching though for something. He captured the world on glossy paper, and scoured each image, _searching._

The sorcerer woke and he was neither lost nor afraid. He was missing something, a large part of himself. Everytime he breathed, he felt the hollow emptiness inside of him. Sometimes he would forget about the gold he bled out. Sometimes he’d stand in the rain curse the sun for not coming out and others he’d just sigh as the cup fell and shattered. Mostly though, he too was searching the whole world for a promise.

And then one day, standing in front of painting of the lake glowing gold, the king found his sorcerer.

The world didn’t glow, the sky didn’t shift. The sorcerer tried to conjure a rose and he couldn’t even manage a petal. But it was okay, when the king kissed him, that their castle was a stone cottage and their throne just a lumpy couch.

They settled into their new world and all was well.

 

\---

  


Merlin whispers the last words to his daughter, watching her feather lashes flutter as she dreams. Arthur slips in beside him and kisses just below his ear.

“Do you miss it?” Arthur ask.

Merlin turns to stared at him, to cup his face. “Sometimes, it would be nice to be lazy and let the magic do the laundry or force the weather to be more pleasant. But I’d give it up a million times to be able to hold you now.”


End file.
